Just One Moment
by The Love Child Of McGonagall a
Summary: This is an angst piece, from the POV of a very under-used character. It's also my way of saying goodbye to the Harry Potter section of ff.n. Enjoy


1 Just One Moment  
  
A/n: Hey all. I know that it's been forever since my last upload. Months and months. So many that I can't remember how long ago it was. I could go on with all the usual excuses. Exams taking up time, no time for the internet any more, etc etc. But I'm sure you've all felt the feeling before of just having no inspiration, no motivation, so I don't think I need to try and make up half true excuses. I didn't even intend to write this fic. I was just surfing parts of fanfiction.net I hadn't seen for months, when I decided to have a quick peek at some of my old fics. Some of them really did make me cringe, I'll tell you that for nothing. To be honest though, they did make me miss being a HP fic author. And when I read the last fic I uploaded, I just wasn't happy with it. So seeing as I don't know when the next time I'll have a sudden burst of inspiration will be, if it ever does come at all, I wanted to end on a high note. I like this fic. It isn't necessarily the fluffiest piece, but I'm happy with it. I hope it will do as my goodbye.  
  
The years dragged by so slowly. There had been a time when he had despaired, not being able to fully remember the beginning, and definitely seeing no light at the end. But he had gotten over that, as he had gotten over most emotions in general. Having feelings just made the passing of time all the worse.  
  
He couldn't necessarily see a light at the end now. Infact, it was more a dull glow, the dying embers of a fire that's time should have been over long ago. But it was something. Something to work towards. Something to keep going for.  
  
He wondered if that was even possible. Didn't it defy logic to only keep going for want of an end? It probably did. Maybe senility had crept in, unnoticed. But he doubted it. Change didn't happen in his life. It wasn't something he encouraged; infact, it was something he went out of his way to discourage. He couldn't cope with change.  
  
And yet.no. He shook his head. No 'and yet's', no 'what if's'. They just made it all the harder. For if he were to walk that road again.No. Never again.  
  
It had happened during the time he had started to despair of life altogether. When he had lain awake during moon filled nights, sleepless, and pondering. Could his life have been different? If he had made more of an effort, could he have been more than he was now? Probably. It didn't take much to become what he was. A glorified janitor of sorts.  
  
Could he have ever been normal? Have laughed, loved and lost? He doubted it. Normal wasn't something that had anything to do with him. Normality had shunned him the day he had been born. Even when he was a child, he had been hideous. Glowing young mothers would peer over the brim of his pram, cooing soppily, before freezing.  
  
"Oh." They would say. "Oh. I'm sorry." Then they would dash away to cuddle little Billy or Susan extra hard, and thank all the God's there had ever been that their own little one's had been spared such disfiguration.  
  
It had plagued him for most of his life. No one had wanted to get close, assuming he had a personality to match his looks. And in the end, he had gained one. But it hadn't always been there. It was something that had been forced on him by those that would cross the road rather than bump into him in the street. They expected him to be that way. So he became their expectations.  
  
For a short while, he had had his parents. His father had never been cruel, but he had never embraced his son the way he did all his other children. And his mother tried, tried so very hard. But when it had turned out that on top of all his problems, he was nothing but a squib as well.well, he couldn't have expected them to keep trying anymore.  
  
Before long he had been old enough to leave home, which he had done, immediately. For a while, he toyed with the idea of travelling. Maybe making a fresh start in a foreign country, saving enough money to.to what? Have plastic surgery? Become 'normal'?  
  
Suddenly, he hated them all. Everyone that had ever labelled him. Ugly, useless.what did they know? Nothing. They didn't know who he was. But in the end, all it came down to was, they didn't want to know. And he had come to accept that.  
  
He had settle for a quiet life of acceptance. Life hated him, he hated life. But for now, they were stuck with each other. So he hid himself behind the only job he could find, given to him more out of pity than anything else, and he had slaved away at it for years. People left him alone, and he.well, he tormented them. That was the bitter part of him. The part that was full of pain, anger, and hurt. He had other parts too. A part that was lonely, remorseful, grieving. And, although it showed itself much less frequently, a part that was subdued, knowing, accepting, and.tired. So very, very tired.  
  
To put it bluntly, he was tired of living. But living was all he knew how to do, so he would carry on doing it until it was decided that he had lived for long enough. And then.well, who knew?  
  
Looking back over his life, he could quite honestly say, without a moment of thought, that he had only ever had one friend. She had wandered into his life one damp, drizzly night, and they had never looked back.  
  
He had been on his way home.home being the castle, his place of work, and of residence.when he had heard a soft sound on the pavement beside him. Glancing down, he saw her. And she saw him. And they knew.  
  
In so many ways, she was just like him. She was hurting inside, and nothing would ever make that go away. He knew he would never know why, but finally, he had found someone who knew just how he felt. He had taken in the kitten immediately. And she had never left his side since.  
  
And so he continued to exist. Days, weeks, months, years.they passed as slowly as the sands in an hourglass, none ever bringing him any relief. He was just a man. A man and his cat. That's all they were to anyone, anyone that ever gave them a second thought, and that was probably.well.no one. Not that he wanted anyone thinking about him.  
  
But deep, deep down, he knew that wasn't true. There was a buried, suppressed part of him that just wanted to be accepted. He scoffed, and shunned the notion, but there was the smallest part of him that just wanted to be.normal. Even just for a day, to see how it felt to be accepted, to be one of them.  
  
Such dreams were impossible though. So he kept his head down, let them all get on with it, and waited for the end to come. But sometimes.sometimes, when he lay awake at night, his mind wandering.he wished. Wished so hard it hurt, that someone, someday would look at him. And understand. And maybe even accept. The way Mrs Norris understood, and accepted. For just one human person to realise what he had been through.and to spare him a thought. All it would take would be a moment. Just one moment.  
  
But it would never be. Argus Filch was destined to live out his life alone.  
  
A/n: And with that, I'd just like to say goodbye, and thank you all for a wonderful six months. It was a pleasure getting to know you. 


End file.
